Post by Deleted on May 17, 2015 20:05:33 GMT -6
LIFE IS CRUEL:
“BATH FROM HELL & THE ECHO OF ETERNAL DARKNESS (The E.E.D)..."
Everylasting Symphony lyrics
::
Do you see my face,
Looking at you in the mirror,
What's happend to you
YOU HAVE SEEM TO HAVE AGEDDD!
You use to be, sooo free
what has taken your soul
Please, send me deliverence
free your body, free your soul
Let my heart be free.
"You're in the midst of a war: a battle between the limits of a crowd seeking the surrender of your dreams, and the power of your true vision to create and contribute. It is a fight between those who will tell you what you cannot do, and that part of you that knows / and has always known / that we are more than our environment; and that a dream, backed by an unrelenting will to attain it, is truly a reality with an imminent arrival."
Gravedigger’s Journal::
Sunday-May 17, 2015
"We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and in others. I've found that war inside this delusionist, this showboat, this pitiful excuse for a woman Nikita Romanova. I've found every reason to use every organ, muscle, brain cell, and breathe of air in my body, to do whatever possible to bring down this garbage. The very thought of her existence makes me sick to the core of my body, and it drives me insane enough to absolutely, irrevocably HATE her. Enough that every fiber of my being drives to see her suffer, to see her defeated, bruised, battered, bloodied, bludgeoned, and broken. The catchphrases, the merchandise, the action figures, it's everywhere I turn, it's inevitable to escape. No matter-it won't be for long until I wipe the very name "Nikita Romanova" from NEW, from the world, from ever...existing...
These fans can hate me for it I don't care-they can chant and remind me of the horrors I'd done, they can go on for as long as they'd like. The least of my worries will be ever seeing that name, that face in my presence rotting and polluting up the place ever again. I don't care if I'm the most disrespected or the most hated, I don't care if the whole fucking world is my enemy. I'll walk with a crosshair on my back; I'm twice the fucking devil there claims to be. I won't stay for anyone, I won't stay to save anyone, I won't stay because I simply can't be fucking stopped. These people, those people out there in the world today, will come to thank for me the things I'm willing to do, for the things I'm going to do, for ridding of Nikita Romanova, for becoming the best NEW TRANS-ATLANTIC CHAMPION ever. They don't know it yet-but they will.
I'm not sorry for the things I'm going to do, I'm not sorry for the things I've done, and Nikita Romanova...you're going to be sorry...because frankly...I'm not sorry."
[ The conclusion! ]
[ BEEP! ]
The over-whelming high-pitched tune sounded blaring over the intercom as he sat up in an instant, hearing the bus driver's voice echoing in his ears throughout the charter bus.
"Alright folks we're about, fifteen to twenty minutes outside of Detroit it looks like we should uh-be getting fairly close to Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport, just sit back, relax, we should be getting to our exit ramp here shortly."
Digger slid his arm over his chest and scratched his left shoulder puzzled, fixing his eyes on the passengers around him. Scanning and studying each carefully while he leaned against the nearby window, had he fallen asleep again and had a dream? The long nights of working show after show left him little sleep, could he have imagined the man in the bar and the man he'd spoken to on the bus all along? When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake. Could he have been developing stages of insomnia all along, or was this just some strange, far-out dream he'd yet to escape?
"Get a fucking grip, Digger."
Digger mutters to himself, slowly closing his eyes and placing his head back against the head-rest. The long drive it seemed was beginning to get to him, causing his sleeping patterns to spiral a bit out of comfort to his liking. After another ten minutes or so had passed, the bus had reached a rest stop and pulled in for gas and passengers to stretch and so on.
[ BEEP! ]
"Okay folks, looks like this is about the only place we'll get to make a short stop until we arrive in Detroit. If you'd like to get out and stretch or use the bathrooms you are more than welcome to."
After coming to a careful stop and the doors slowly opened, and the passengers filed out aimlessly. Digger adjusting his tight-fit "Killswitch Engage" black t-shirt steps off the bus, and checks the clock on his cell phone realizing the sun was beginning to set.
"5:15 P.M."
Slipping the iTouch phone back into his back pocket of his torn and baggy denim jeans, Digger slowly began walking towards the Rest-Stop complex where other passengers seemed to linger. Stepping through the entrance door as the others seemed to go silent in his presence, while Digger soon felt every eye in the store fall upon his approach. Whispering amongst one another and interrelating as they glance as Digger while doing so, as Gravedigger stops in the doorway. Looking to each individual one at a time hearing the silence fall over the store, before the others resumed minding their business.
Moving to the cashier to the front of the store Digger asked for a pack of cigarettes, pausing for a moment peering over his shoulder to an old man. The old man simply realizing he'd been caught staring quickly looked away as Digger sighed, purchasing his cigarettes and storming out the door seconds later.
"Did you know smoking is bad for your health, my hijo'?"
A voice in the distance muttered to Digger followed by a quiet chuckle, as Digger stopped a few feet outside the shop turning his head. The old gray-haired Latino-accented man stood with a bright smile, while comfortably standing in his white robe as he appeared before.
"What's it to you?"
Digger grumbled, lifting the packed pouch to his cold lips as he pulled a single cigarette out between them. Before flipping a Zippo lighter open and lighting it carefully keeping an eye on the old man, who simply appeared to hold a puckered brow at the sight.
"Because my hijo, you are only killing yourself faster and shortening your life in this paradise. You must start seeing the light from a different point of life, and accept a much happier approach to living."
Digger laughed, inhaling carefully taking a small drag from the cigarette before blowing the small trail of smoke into the air. Watching it diminish in the atmosphere while looking back at the old man, who only seemed to grow more hurt-looking by Digger's choice to smoke away.
"Killing myself faster isn't any different than the shit I do on television every week brother, and as far as "seeing the light goes", I closed the book on that a long time ago. I'm not afraid of the dark pal..."
Digger grumbles, flicking a bit of ash from the tip of his cigarette on the ground before taking another hit looking back to the old Latino man once more.
"There is more to life than pain amigo, life isn't all about pain and suffering...there is more to it than that. You can too if you just accept light in your life and let go of the other, bring yourself to the surface and breathe."
Digger smirks and slowly shakes his head, growing somewhat irritated.
"No offense uh..."padre", but I don't go near that religion "b.s." at least not anymore. Maybe some of those old folks would appreciate it though, since y'know they're all making preparations to sort of kick the can and all..."
Jesus' lowers his head as the small breeze passing by creates waves in the gray locks of his hair, looking back at Digger who gives somewhat of an anti-sympathetic expression.
"He does watch over you too hijo', whether you believe he does or not."
Jesus' mutters in his thick accent, meanwhile the busy, robust bus driver stepping beside Digger kindly steps in. His rather large black bus-driver jacket snugly fit against his large frame, while he smiles his thick mustache mimics his dimples. The light brown strands of his short hair combed aside neatly, as he gives a polite nod towards Digger to greet him.
"Excuse me sir, we're boarding the bus now if you're ready to get back on we can leave as soon as everyone is on board."
The man gestures kindly with a smile, as Digger waits a moment before slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke in the driver's face. Pausing for a moment before giving a reassuring nod in response, quietly the bus driver remains still for a moment before walking away respectively feeling intimidated.
"Anyway, you were say-"
Digger cuts himself off mid-sentence turning his head to see the old man is no longer there, perking a brow to him as he puts the cigarette out along the pavement. Pressing his toe along the cherry of the cigarette as he glances around, appearing to be rather puzzled as to the old man's whereabouts. Carefully making his way back to the charter bus, peering over his shoulder once more...
[ About 45 minutes later... ]
Sitting in the crowded and noisy airport in Detroit, Gravedigger sits with his arms crossed and eyes closed awaiting for his flight to New York to begin boarding. The sounds of people passing by, yelling on cellphones, airlines coming over the intercom, and children crying seems to fizzle out of conscious. Until finally a cold chill comes trailing down his spine as he tights his folded arms, re-adjusting himself in his seat somewhat...
"A very warm day here in Detroit..."
A voice with a rough, quiet tone suddenly emerged from the right side of Digger as his eyes shot open, peering slowly to the man seated beside him. Noticing a familiar slim man with fairly pale skin, short black colored hair slicked back, and a crimson and black suit. Sitting casually reading a local Detroit newspaper to himself, holding a concrete smirk as he fails to even glance at Digger. Realizing the familiar face and who the man is, Digger flinches for almost an instant and catches himself growing paranoid...
"Wha-Lucas-You?? What the hel-h-how did you get here, are you living in Detroit or something? What are you doing here?"
Digger finally manages to get the sentence out, much to the amusement of Lucas who holds his callous smirk.
"Here in Detroit, ha-trust me Digger I've found comfort living in a place much hotter than the northern life of Detroit."
Lucas mutters, cutting the sentence off with a careful yet playful tone as he chuckles to himself audibly.
"I see...the tan you seem to be sporting just screams somewhere much hotter than good ol' sunny Detroit."
Digger mutters sarcastically in a strange tone softly, as Lucas finishing the newspaper slowly folds it in his lap and turns to Digger.
"So, whose funeral are you flying out to?"
Lucas mutters carefully before growing a dark grin, just seconds after a long pause Digger does the same...
[ To... Be... Continued... ]
Ignite '205' Promo:
The sounds of crickets chirping, a strong gust of the chilling wind blowing past, wolves howling in the moonlight, and storm clouds closing in bellow in the distance of the night sky. A familiar setting many are used to when it comes to a dark, sadistic, fearless, barbaric, out of control, blood-thirsty sociopath known as "The Titan of Torment", "The Devil's Comrade" Gravedigger. A very comforting setting for someone as cruel and cold-hearted such as himself, unlike most unrealistic, unproductive, unintelligent combatants he'd face thus far in his career. The long, hard, hellacious road of destruction he'd been on leading up to this point, straight into his very first NEW Championship Match on Ignite.
The camera focuses on an open empty field near a large clearing of tall, dark trees and wooded areas in the distance. Finally panning around carefully to a fairly large dirt mound, supporting a shovel stuck in the top near a six-foot deep hole. Near the hole rests a large concrete headstone, cracked and aged with time appearing to hold no information. In the distance the sounds of a motorized engine closes in within seconds, followed by the sounds of the motor cutting off and a door opening and closing.
Footsteps can be heard reaching closer and closer towards the camera as it focuses in on the shovel, until finally a dark shadow appear along the dirt mound. Gravedigger walks into view sporting an unbuttoned long-sleeved black shirt, and a baggy pair of black jeans down his masculine frame. Ascending the dirt mound slowly, before circling the impaled shovel, as he places the palms of his hands onto the shovel-glancing to the six-foot hole beside him...
“Nikita I have seen that, long-winded boring promo of yours? The one about my style and the way I do things? I remember the insults you made, or rather your "attempts" to insult me, I will only say one nice thing about you, that you are a very beautiful woman. Hell, I even thought about asking you out to dinner once this match was over, but now hell no, now I am going to make you eat those insults, and then bury you in this shallow grave here beside me.”
Digger smirks, reaching up running his fingertips back through his black hair, exhaling carefully as he glares down towards the camera.
"You know-I'd say you've gone from a pretty blonde to a dirty dumb blonde, wait-no Nikita, you aren’t even good enough for that. You climbed so high in your early career-you had actually had the wrestling world fooled you were going to explode to the top. Then procrastination and laziness settled in, your thick skull let your ego and breasts inflate just a little, and pretty soon you floated back down to the bottom. Down-spiraling your way to the very pit of everyone's stomach, as you know we call this the "Dead End" point of your career..."
Digger pauses.
“Biggest declining career in the history of professional wrestling' would be the best way to put it. Nikita, we hate you because you think selling t-shirts are more important that winning. We hate you Nikita, because you've sold yourself out. And nobody likes a prostitute, I'd say that about fits the description. That doesn't sound like the description of a NEW Trans-Atlantic Champion to me-then again; you never make a good champion of any kind anyway. You see Nikita, the fucking day you win a NEW Championship, is the day my Social Security-expires."
Digger slowly shakes his head, a bit disappointed at Romanova's career sky-rocketing to the top only to run on fumes and plummet back down to crash through the ground.
"Face it Nikita, you've fallen far below the likes of me and I've ultimately surpassed you in every way, whether you like it or not. I’m only looking past the piece of shit that now stands in my way.."
"You see Nikita-in my world talk is fucking cheap, I know this because I've watched all of your promos in the last few weeks. I watched you rise and I watched you crumble back down to your demise, now look at you. Thinking that you are going to be the next NEW Trans-Atlantic Champion. Wrong, you will never beat me, I've found the solution. Forcing you to finally SHUT that crater-sized hole of a mouth you have by doing one simple thing, beating you for the NEW Trans-Atlantic Championship and giving you a... “BLOOD BATH FROM HELL” so you can hear the “ECHO OF ETERNAL DARKNESS (The E.E.D)..."
"You've see Nikita, I have a brand new signature and finisher move that I will show the world, and Nikita you will be the first victim to have a “Blood Bath From Hell” and the “Echo of Eternal Darkness (The E.E.D)”…"
Pauses, chuckling audibly to himself over the joke that is Nikita Romanova's career.
"Face it the only skill you can possess anymore, is selling crappy sweatshirts to fat ten-year old boys to cover up their bitch tits. The age-range of what little fan-base you hold ranges from kindergarten to grade school, kids who don't know how to separate the difference between SHIT and fucking Phenomenal. I will admit though Nikita-I will admit there was indeed a time when I couldn't hold back, a time when I could resist and bought myself a brand new Nikita Romanova t-shirt. The locker room was out of toilet paper and I needed something to wipe my ass with."
"I want nothing from you except your pathological-lying bloodied ass lying in the middle of the ring, with me standing Diggerious over you. What more is there to take from you that anyone hasn’t already taken? Your pride, your integrity, your dignity, your so-called "respect", which leaves me to believe there, is nothing left to take from you Nikita. So you keep your threesomes, you keep the new boyfriend that you seem to get every week; you keep your stupid little fucking head games, you keep your repetitive flashbacks that you constantly spout on about – week after week – month after month – over, and over, and over again. You keep your tough lady image, your merchandise, your managers, your utter lack of vocabulary, your training segments, your same, tired old bullshit that you’ve relied on for so long, and you keep your dreams of someday becoming a NEW Champion here or in the NEW, because that’s all you’ve got Romanova – empty dreams."
"It's rather amusing despite your accomplishments and everything you've ever seemed to achieve throughout your little career, I'm still considered superior to you than all those combined. You never reach the success that I have here in NEW."
Digger pauses once more, looking to the open grave he's dug over the past few days with a long, sadistic smile.
"Shame you'll never feel that relief, that sensation of accomplishment, the feeling of all your hard work paid off. That recognition you work so hard work, and of course all the respect you worked so hard to earn. You'll never get it Nikita, not you, not the "old" Nikita Romanova, not even your long-buffet line of STD-infested boyfriends. All the sweat you dripped, all that blood you’ve spilt; all those tears you’ve cried, all of those bones you broke, all those fucking championships you won-no longer matters...it means...nothing. Come Ignite, I'll make sure you're forgotten, erased from the books, wiped from existance, you Nikita Romanova-won't have any place in history. Because that's exactly what you'll be-from here til...well..."
Digger turns glancing to the open grave.
"Til I've given you the dirt-nap you so deserve, but don't worry...you can scream all you want...we won't hear you."
[ Fade. ]
FLY,FLY,FLY away to go to the Heavens
HEAVENSSSS
Feel a cloud beneath your feet
look around, then it hits your soul,
your spirit is no where to be found.
Your a damaged little girl
with eyes of a child , feel my pain
you wimpy little girl
you wimply little girl